


See My Reflection in Your Eyes (Falling Just as Hard)

by sweeterthankarma



Series: Pride Month Prompts 2020 [5]
Category: New Amsterdam (TV 2018)
Genre: Bisexual Georgia Goodwin, Bisexual Helen Sharpe, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Multi, Parenthood, Polyamory, Sharpwin Squared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Sometimes Max forgets that Helen and Georgia are in love with each other just as much as he’s in love with them.
Relationships: Georgia Goodwin & Max Goodwin & Helen Sharpe & Luna Goodwin, Georgia Goodwin/Helen Sharpe, Georgia Goodwin/Max Goodwin, Georgia Goodwin/Max Goodwin/Helen Sharpe, Max Goodwin/Helen Sharpe
Series: Pride Month Prompts 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769956
Comments: 18
Kudos: 18





	See My Reflection in Your Eyes (Falling Just as Hard)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Pride Month and welcome to my first ever month-long fic challenge! For thirty days, I'll be writing and posting LGBTQ+ fics inspired by the prompts listed [here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/517562182177703635/). These fics will be anywhere from 100-1,500 words, will be for different fandoms, ships and characters, and will all stand alone. Here goes nothing!
> 
> Day 5 Prompt: Cookbook.
> 
> Title comes from the song "Reflections" by The Neighbourhood.

Sometimes Max forgets that Helen and Georgia are in love with each other just as much as he’s in love with them. 

Maybe  _ forgets _ isn’t the right word — he’s more so enamored by them, by every part of who they are and what they stand for, together and apart, as well as what they mean to him. Though it’s been seven months of almost unsettlingly peaceful domesticity between the three of them, he’s still floundering blissfully in the realization, waking up every day surprised that this is really his life and not some fever dream. Just seeing them interact with each other over something as mundane as the weather was enough to make his heart swell in the beginning, years ago when he was falling more in love with Georgia every day yet discovering his unavoidable feelings for Helen, getting stronger with every passing workday. Now, to have each of them by his side, holding tightly onto both him and each other, is more than he could have ever imagined. Everything he could ever ask for. 

Helen and Georgia don’t talk about rules because they don’t have any, and they love fiercer than Max could have ever imagined. Every day he looks in their eyes and sees the truth, that he can have both of them in his life and not make a choice, not cut any ties that he’s grown so attached to. He’s never been good with decisions, anyway, especially not when it came to something as pivotal as this. As love.

And that’s what this is, love on a deeper level than he ever thought was possible.

There are so many memories that he’s fond of: the first time they all held hands in Washington Square Park and didn’t pull away, even when they ran into Ella, of all people, who looked a little fascinated and intrigued but not at all surprised. The first — and only— time Georgia took them to the club, determined to spend a night feeling like young people and not overworked parents, and Max drank too many Mojitos and threw up on the sidewalk —  _ exactly like a young person,  _ Helen had applauded him while she dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth and fed him saltines. The first time they spent Christmas together, hung mistletoe and took cliche selfies beneath it and burnt tree-shaped cookies before calling each of their parents, explaining the change in their family dynamic over a Skype call so that they could easily disconnect and blame it on a poor connection should anyone react negatively.

Despite  all of the big, milestone moments that divide his life into months and seasons, times like this are still Max’s favorite, and they linger with him the most on the rare occasions that he’s without his wife and girlfriend.

“Max, honey, can you get the cookbook out for us?” Georgia calls out to him. 

He’s in the bedroom getting Helen her cardigan, the softest, emerald green one she keeps at the forefront of her closet. It’s February and she’s perpetually cold — maybe an excuse to keep her lovers’ hands on her, though it’s just as likely that they use her coldbloodedness as an excuse to hold her close, too.

“Ordering me around, are you?” Max replies, though his tone practically drips with sweetness. He obliges, hurrying to the bookshelf and back. 

In the kitchen, Georgia stands close to Helen, hips brushing. Both their hands are covered in flour as they knead the dough for tonight’s recipe: homemade Margherita pizza, just the way that Georgia’s grandma used to make it. 

It’s usually Georgia’s job to cook as it’s her favorite hobby, and Max helps out by sitting nearby, snacking on whatever ingredient he probably shouldn’t be snacking on, and listing off measurements whenever she asks him to. Occasionally he’ll chop things for her too, but he always seems to get distracted by the way she —  or Helen — moves, swaying along to whatever music they choose to play. It’s unreasonable how good either of them looks in an apron, especially if it’s Helen, wearing the pastel yellow one with the name  _ Goodwin  _ is embroidered across the smock.

Luna likes to watch them dance, too. She makes noises and cheers and dances herself, always underfoot and in the way so they have to be extra cautious; Max entertains her by spinning her, picking her up in his arms, peppering kisses on her cheeks until she nudges him away, laughter brightening her soft cheeks.

Max comes back in with the cookbook just in time to catch Georgia stick her tongue out and lick at some flour that’s flecked across Helen’s cheek, right near her dimple. Helen grins, eyes fluttering shut as she does so, and Max sees the subtle way she moves closer to her, sweet and appreciative. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Max hears Georgia tell her, voice low and honest, and his stomach flips at the same time, in the same way that Helen’s does.

“You are,” Max confirms, coming up between them. “And so are you.” He kisses both their cheeks, Helen’s and then Georgia’s, as he ties Helen’s sweater around her waist, careful not to get any white powder on it in the process. After the pizza’s in the oven, he or Georgia — whoever can get to her first— will help her into the sweater, hold it open behind her like they’re going on a grand date. Helen will roll her eyes but let out a soft laugh all the same as she slips into it, oversized sleeves covering her brown palms like mittens.

Max opens the cookbook, humming absentmindedly as he looks for the recipe. The oven beeps quietly but sharply, indicating that it’s preheated to 395 exactly, just the way that Grandma Goodwin always suggested.

“It’s weird, I know, but she was like that,” Georgia had told them the first time they made the recipe. “She swore those five degrees made a difference, even though she always ended up cooking it longer. I never argued with her, she was a woman of her ways..”

It only takes Max a few seconds to realize he’s got the wrong book. This one’s dated from ‘65, and even if those numbers didn’t sit on the corner of each page, he knows the other book well. 

As if on command, Luna makes a noise. She sits at the table obediently, playing with her stuffed animals , a variety of small sheep, cats, dogs and cows. She’s propped up, finally old enough to be out of her high chair, by thick books: textbooks, old phone books dated from the early 2000s that Georgia kept knowing someday they’d be needed for this exact purpose. 

Of course, at the very bottom of the stack, is the cookbook that they need. Georgia laughs when Max relays this information to her and Helen turns, flattened pizza dough in hand, looking practically comical.

“Luna, can you get up for a minute, sweetie?” Max starts to ask. Before he can even finish, Helen stops him. He can practically her the pout in her voice.

“But she’s playing! Look, she’s all comfy.”

Georgia giggles at this. Luna’s already up and out of her seat, dutifully complying to Max’s request, and it only takes a second for him to grab the desired book and help his daughter back up to her previous position.

“Helen Sharpe, you are a hopeless cause,” Georgia says, but she’s looking at Helen like she’s anything but.

“She’s so cute,” Helen points out exaggeratedly, as if it isn’t obvious. Luna’s got them all wrapped around her tiny finger, and almost the entire New Amsterdam staff at that. 

Luna makes little noises as she plays, animating her toys, and Helen’s lower lip is pouted as she watches her. Max has to fight the urge to kiss her frown away. 

The three of them try not to engage in too much PDA around Luna, but they also don’t  _ not  _ engage in it. Helen had told them shortly after they all got together how her parents never kissed in front of her, never even held hands, and it had altered her perspective of love when she was younger, seeing a stark contrast between the drama of movies and her own reality. Now, there’s no shortage of love to go around, and neither Max or Georgia hesitate to offer it to her.

“Max,” Georgia says, snapping him out of his trance as he watches Helen marvel over Luna— and he marvels over both of them— “this is the wrong cookbook.”

“Again?” he asks. 

Georgia nods, eyebrows raised and mouth drawn into a line as she tries not to laugh.

Max sighs, takes the book back. “Luna, honey, can you get up again?”

“Third time’s a charm,” he says when he finally opens to the correct page and rambles off the measurements of ingredients that they’ve been waiting on.

“Lucky number three,” Georgia sing-songs. Both Max and Helen beam at her. 

“Lucky number three, indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi and celebrate pride month with me on Tumblr [here.](https://sweeterthankarma.tumblr.com/)


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